Defense Against The Dark Arts With Professor Umino (Chaptered Story)
by AvocadoLove
Summary: Book 5 AU: With no witch or wizard willing to take the Defense Against The Dark Arts job except Umbridge, Dumbledore is forced to look elsewhere. He hires a shinobi. (Chaptered story based on my one-shot collection under the same name.)
1. Chapter 1

**Note:** So... years ago I wrote a couple crack one-shots where Iruka teaches DADA. (It's still up on this site, under the same title because I have no imagination.) Then, BAM out of nowhere a full-fledged plot sprung out and bit me. Sometimes the muse wants what the muse wants.

That oneshot collection is all finished, and I didn't want to erase it and lose the reviews. So it'll stay up while I write this plotty fic.

FINALLY: This chapter is a little... heavy. Please trust in the fact that this isn't my first rodeo, and that this will have a **happy ending**.

* * *

 _Let us remember: One book, one pen, one child, and one teacher can change the world._ Malala Yousafzai

\- Malala Yousafzai

* * *

Iruka felt the ANBU's presence before the children did. Pausing mid-lecture, he turned with chalk in hand.

Cat and Crane stood politely at the door. Shizune, the Hokage's assistant, stood with them.

 _Oh_ , Iruka thought. _They're here for me_.

A door slammed shut in his mind: he locked grief, shock, and fear away behind it. His student's eyes were on him, and it was his responsibility to show them how to properly react when the worst happened.

Most of the kids (the ones who weren't half asleep—it was a difficult lecture on the theory of the Fabian strategy by wearing down one's enemies through targeted skirmishes) had followed his gaze, and the air became crystalline with dread.

Everyone with shinobi families knew what news two unannounced ANBU brought.

Iruka strode calmly across the room, then bowed to Shizune and the ANBU, who bowed back.

"Is it Naruto?" Iruka asked through stiff lips.

Shizune gave him a soft, sad look. "Naruto's safe, Iruka-sensei. I'll take over your class this afternoon."

Not Naruto. Then... Then...

His mind shied away from completing the thought. (He would not break in front of his students.) Instead, Iruka handed Shizune the stub of chalk, as if passing a baton. "We are discussing skirmishes as a technique against a more powerful enemy. My notes are on the desk."

"Thank you, Iruka-sensei."

He and Shizune exchanged places, and Iruka followed the ANBU to the hall.

Once out of view of the class, Cat laid one hand on Iruka's shoulder. He didn't fight the man's chakra as a swirl of leaves whisked them to the morgue.

Iruka disliked this building—he didn't know anyone who did like it. The air was too cold, and as clean as the staff kept it, the scent of blood never quite went away. Iruka just kept moving forward. The door holding back his emotions rattled in its frame, but stayed tightly shut.

There were people waiting for him in the next room over, but Iruka's gaze was all for Naruto. The boy looked wretched, the muscles ticking wildly on his chin in his effort to hold back tears.

Silently, Naruto held a familiar black hitai-ate across his palms. Iruka took it, the metal plate clicked softly against his wedding ring. With his free hand, he reached to grip Naruto's shoulder. "You're safe? You're not hurt?"

Naruto shook his head, too choked to speak.

"We're safe, Iruka-sensei," Sakura piped up from behind him. Sasuke grunted his agreement.

"Iruka-sensei," said a female voice.

He glanced up and noticed belatedly that Tsunade was there as well. On any other day, Iruka would be embarrassed he didn't greet her with respect. Now, all he could see was that she stood before a sheet covered body on an autopsy table.

"Would you care to view the body?" she asked.

Which was how Iruka found himself staring down at Kakashi. He still wore his uniform, his mask in place. His eyes, uncovered because Iruka held his hitai-ate, were peacefully closed.

He looked like he was asleep.

He'd been dead for enough time for rigamortis to set in. His skin, when Iruka laid his hand on his cheek, was cold, the neck stiff and unmoving.

 _What was the last thing I said to him?_ Iruka thought, with sudden, sharp panic. _Did I nag him to take out the trash? No, I'd never… Not before a mission. Even an easy one that this was supposed to be. I must have told him to go and come back-I made him break that promise. Why didn't I tell him I loved him, so he heard it from me one last time..._

Grief and rage and sucking despair banged on the other side of his mental door. Iruka clenched his fist and held it shut by force.

Distantly, he heard the voices of his former students speaking to Tsunade. They were giving their report.

A distant part of Iruka knew he would want to hear this—he would want to know how and why Kakashi died: What he'd given his life for.

It all washed over him as noise, until one thing Naruto said stood out from the rest.

"...never heard a Jutsu like it before. _Abracadabra_ , or something. And there was green light—"

" _Avada Kedavra_ ," Iruka corrected absently. That would explain why Kakashi's body was unmarked.

The room had gone silent. Iruka felt a prickle up his neck and turned to see everyone looking curiously.

"Something to add, Sensei?" Tsunade asked.

Iruka's voice sounded calm and remote. Still stuck in lecture-mode it seemed. "It's a wizard jutsu for instant death—one of their few fatal techniques," Iruka said. Kakashi wouldn't have felt anything, wouldn't have known he was dying.

... Why didn't that feel like a mercy?

Naruto scrunched up his face. "…Wizard?"

"Wizards aren't allowed in the five countries without an escort," Sasuke said.

"How do you know this?" Tsunade asked.

"My grandmother on my mother's side immigrated from one of their countries, England, before the borders shut," Iruka said. It was no secret. It was in his file. "Were any carrying wands? They'd look like sticks. Ten to twelve inches long?"

Naruto and Sasuke looked at each other in confusion. Sakura stepped forward. "We were fighting three missing nin on the other end of the field. Kakashi-sensei had joined forces with Jokari-san and Gyuniku-san to take down a swordsman."

"The other two jounin were killed with kunai," Tsunade said.

"I see." It was a reflex. He didn't. Two men of jounin rank killed with kunai, when they'd been fighting a swordsman, and the village's most elite felled by a mere wizard?

Tsunade gaze was fixed so intently on Iruka and if he were in another frame of mind he'd be unnerved. Now, he only felt numb.

Naruto stepped forward, curling a hand around Iruka's elbow. "Sensei, let's get you home."

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

When his parents had been killed, Iruka learned the hard lesson that life moved on. No matter what. As a child, it had enraged him: how could people keep living, keep laughing when his mother and father were dead? When Iruka had been all alone with a grief so wide and deep he felt like he was drowning?

He'd acted out. Played pranks. Been a complete hellion so someone-anyone would see him and his pain.

Now as a supposedly more responsible adult he couldn't do that. He had an example to set, a grieving Team 7 to watch out for. Classes to teach.

(Well, he could express himself in the healthy ninja way and kill a few Konoha's enemies, but he wasn't a usual field agent and his requests for high ranking missions kept getting denied.)

So he lived on. One day at a time. One foot in front of the other. He made himself eat at least twice a day—dinner was accompanied by Naruto, Gai, or Yamato more often than not. Tried and failed to sleep.

Tried and failed to sleep.

He packed up Kakashi's belongings in their shared house and put them in storage. Accepted the paperwork with deeds to Hatake holdings, and promptly locked them in a safe, with the intention of never opening it again.

And if the world had become gray and lifeless, as if he'd become unanchored from his life and set adrift at sea... well.

He spent hours, sometimes, twisting his wedding ring around and around his finger. As shinobi custom, it had been imbued with a little of Kakashi's chakra for Iruka to always carry with him. The fact it hadn't dissipated with Kakashi's death spoke more of Iruka clinging onto his memory than Kakashi's power. Kakashi's own ring was lifeless and empty, the sliver of Iruka's chakra wiped away in the same jutsu that had killed him.

At night he dreamed Kakashi was alive. They danced at their wedding. They sat at the same table at restaurants, quietly chatting with their knees and calves pressed to one another in a secret only they shared. They trained — Kakashi could kick Iruka's ass without even trying, but occasionally Iruka could surprise him.

Every morning Iruka woke alone in his bed and had to remind himself that Kakashi wasn't coming back.

Six weeks after Kakashi died, Iruka received a message bird for him to go to the Hokage's tower. Maybe one of his requests for an out-of-village mission had gone through. Maybe his quality of work had slipped and Tsunade was about to yell at him to snap out of it.

Iruka couldn't find it in himself to care, either way.

When he first walked into her office, he thought he had come at the wrong time. Tsunade sat at her desk across from a man even older than the Third had been, dressed in heavy blue robes.

 _A wizard_ , Iruka realized, dully.

Tsunade looked up and beckoned him in. "Ah, Iruka-sensei. We were waiting for you. This is Dumbledore-san." She looked pointedly at Iruka. "I assume you've kept up your English?"

So, Tsunade had bothered to read up on Iruka's file. His grandmother had taught the language to him before she died, and he occasionally spoke it with foreign merchants, to keep up the practice.

" _Yes, Lady Tsunade_ ," he said, in that language. " _Though I am told I have an accent._ "

" _You're perfectly understandable._ " The old man smiled. " _I understand you're the grandson of Delphina Black._ "

" _Yes._ " Iruka inclined his head politely, wondering what this was about. Surely, no one would have business with his grandmother after so many years? " _I was named for her._ "

" _I knew her as a young woman in school. She was a powerful witch—utterly devious with charms."_

Iruka nodded. _"I remember her using her witch magic to clean the house and cook family meals."_ He paused. _"I'm sorry to tell you she passed away two years prior to the Kyuubi attack on our village."_

"Yes, yes, it's clear from both your prattling that he's fluent," Tsunade interrupted in Japanese. It appeared she didn't know the language, and didn't appreciate being left out. "Have a seat, Iruka-sensei. Dumbledore-san here is the current headmaster of their Wizard and Witch school."

"Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Dumbledore elaborated. "It is a fine institution. One of the best schools for magic in the world, if you don't mind my very biased opinion." He studied Iruka over half-moon glasses. "This year we have an opening for a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I was hoping to interest you in the position."

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

Iruka waited until Dumbledore had left the room before he looked to Tsunade. "Permission to speak freely?"

"You want to know if this has anything to do with Kakashi's death," she said wryly. "Of course it does."

Iruka took in a sharp breath. His heart pounded with something akin to eagerness. "What is the rank of this mission?" He wasn't a fool. Dumbledore had spoken of generous pay for Hogwarts's professors, the chance to mold new minds, and the extensive library in case Iruka was the researching type.

But Iruka was a shinobi first. Teacher second. He read underneath the underneath. The fact Tsunade had allowed Iruka to be interviewed was as good as an order to accept.

Tsunade took a scroll and slid it across the table. The chakra seals indicated it was of the highest rank.

"I'm not complaining," Iruka said carefully as he accepted the scroll, "But wouldn't Ebisu-sensei be better assigned to an S-rank?"

"He can't speak English, and we both know you'd rate Special Jounin if you ever pried yourself out of the Academy." She snorted indelicately and reached under her table, bringing up a bottle of sake and two cups. She spoke as she poured, "What Dumbledore-san neglected to tell both of us is their entire blasted country is on the brink of civil war. They have a Dark Lord who fancies himself as their new overruler."

"What does this have to do with Konoha?" _What does this have to do with who killed Kakashi?_

"We suspect the people who targeted Team 7 are working for, or along with, this new Dark Lord. They call themselves," she paused and words came out heavy with the unfamiliar words. " _Death Eaters_."

Iruka blinked. "Death Eaters?" he translated back into Japanese.

"Eh? Well, that's a name filled with charm." She lifted her cup and clinked it against his own. "Kanpai."

They drank. It burned all the way down in a way that didn't relieve a quarter of his pain.

"Why did your grandmother cross the border?" Tsunade asked. "Our file on her was limited."

"She was under threat from a previous Dark Lord, I believe," he said, adding dryly, "It's a reoccurring problem in Europe."

Tsunade nodded and laced her fingers, collecting her thoughts. "Dumbledore-san wants a shinobi within his walls to teach his children to defend themselves properly. To prepare them for the upcoming war. No doubt when the time comes, he will try to convince you to fight for their side."

"Should I let him?" Iruka asked bluntly.

"You are to protect your students as any sensei would, but Konoha has no stake in wizard matters. No," she shook her head. "Fighting their battles for them will not be your primary objective."

He nodded and she filled his cup again before she spoke.

"All of our intelligence about their country comes second or third hand, from immigrants such as your grandmother. We haven't had such an opportunity for a spy on the inside in generations. Use the good sense you're so known for, Sensei. I want constant reports on this brewing war, and what we are to expect from these people afterward." Her voice grew icy. "And you are to find out whatever you can about who killed Kakashi Hatake, and why. Then eliminate them."

This was the sort of mission assigned to ANBU. Iruka was only a chuunin, but he didn't hesitate for a second.

"I accept."

"I thought you might. Don't think I haven't noticed you signed up for every dangerous mission that crosses the mission desk." She looked hard at him. "Naruto's worried about you. He isn't the only one."

"I do my duty to Konoha," he said stiffly.

"Some might say Kakashi's death snuffed out your Will of Fire."

He bristled, even though deep down he suspected it was true. "Death is a part of shinobi life."

"That's what we tell ourselves, yes." She said in a gentle manner of another who had also suffered a loss. "We tell ourselves that existing is living, and that living is moving on. Teach these wizard children the Will of Fire, Iruka-sensei. Perhaps you will find it again, in yourself."

* * *

 **Note: Thanks for reading! Again, kinda a bummer start... but I do promise a happy ending. (HINT: HAPPY ENDINGS DON'T CONTAIN CHARACTER DEATH.)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes:** I took some liberties with shadow clones and oiroke no jutsu.

* * *

Iruka knew he was dreaming.

In real life, Kakashi had dotted a kiss on the corner of Iruka's mouth before he pulled up his mask and said, "I'm leading Team 7 on a dead-drop retrieval."

"Courier mission?" Iruka asked absently, glancing up from the scroll he was grading.

Kakashi rolled his shoulder in a languid shrug and scratched the back of his neck. "Maa. Well, it is to the heart of Rain. The old lady's giving us a week. I say three days."

Which meant Iruka should bet on two weeks. Kakashi's habitual lateness aside, Team 7 attracted trouble like iron filings to a magnet. He smiled. "Go and come back."

The next time he saw Kakashi would be on the autopsy table.

In Iruka's dream, however, he stood and curled his fingers in Kakashi's flack jacket. They kissed, slow and deep. A lingering goodbye.

Iruka thought, _Don't leave... Don't walk out that door._

Even knowing what would happen after Kakashi walked away, he couldn't dishonor himself—dishonor Kakashi by making that request.

Then they were in bed, in the instant way of dreams, moving languidly against one another as if they had all the time in the world.

Kakashi rolled his hips against Iruka. "My, my, Sensei. Are you trying to make me late?"

"Tell your team you were waylaid by a succubus," Iruka suggested.

Kakashi barked a laugh. One hand rested over Iruka's heart—he could feel his own heartbeat racing under his touch. Kakashi's gray-blue eye went dark with wistful sadness. "I need to leave."

"I know," Iruka whispered. "Kakashi, I—"

Iruka was woken to a sharp tapping on his bedroom window.

He was half-standing before he was fully awake, the kunai he kept under his pillow in a throwing grip. He caught it back at the last moment.

There was a flock of owls sitting on his windowsill.

His grandmother had occasionally received owl-post, he remembered. From old friends she'd left behind when she'd immigrated. He hadn't thought about that in years.

Most of the owls had reams of scrolls tied to their legs. A few carried heavy books between them. And they were perched there in the light of early morning, perfectly visible to anyone who carried to see.

In fact, Iruka caught the sounds of laughter and comments from villagers outside. Within an hour, he'd be the subject of most of the gossips.

Did these wizards have no sense of discretion? Irritated, he stood to his full height then realized his cheeks were cold and wet from the dream—he'd been crying in his sleep.

He clenched his fist. Kakashi's ghostly chakra, embedded into the wedding ring, pressed against his skin. It was a balm and a reminder of what he'd never have again…

 _Get a hold of yourself, Shinobi_ , Iruka told himself firmly.

Rubbing his face dry on his sleeve, he stepped over and flung open the window. "Come inside, quickly!"

The owls fluttered in, and Iruka relieved them of their burdens. A few helped themselves to the remains of last night's tsukimi udon before hop-fluttering away.

It appeared that Dumbledore had sent the syllabuses of the last few Defense Against the Dark Arts professors. The most recent was from a man called Alastor Moody, the previous Remus Lupin, Gilderoy Lockhart, and so on. There was also a thick stack of paperwork detailing the Ministry of Magic standard requirements for O.W.L.S. and N.E.W.T. testing.

The spells were foreign to Iruka, as he was not a wizard. But the concepts of defense and the few allowed offensive moves were at least familiar, if incredibly simplistic. And it appeared in the Ministry did not want the students practicing spells on one another. Not even for sparring practice.

 _How useless_ , he thought. It seemed criminal to him to send children out into the world with no practical self-defense knowledge, other than theory.

Also, Hogwarts students were older than he expected. The first years entering school were genin-age, the oldest seventeen or eighteen upon graduation.

He had known from his grandmother's stories that wizards practiced their magic differently than shinobi, but until now he did not realize there was this much difference.

One lone owl stayed behind on his windowsill, as if waiting for further orders. It soon became apparent why.

The final form was a note from Dumbledore asking Iruka send textbook requirements for the incoming classes. After a moment's thought, he jotted down _The Art of War_ by _Sun Tzu_ , who had not been a shinobi or a wizard, but wise in the way of tactics.

After tying the slip of paper to the owl's leg and sending it on its way, he settled back to his kotatsu and go over the paperwork again.

He had much work to do.

It wasn't until later that night, the paperwork spread across his table, and his dinner half-eaten, that Iruka realized he had spent the entire day in lesson planning. He couldn't remember the last time he had lost himself like that. Before Kakashi's death, certainly.

Perhaps this would be good for him, after all.

* * *

 **OoOoO**

* * *

"I don't like that you'll be all by yourself for an entire year, Iruka-sensei," Naruto said. He was "helping" Iruka pack, but the unspoken truth was both were stalling before they had to say goodbye.

Iruka paused before sealing his collection of kunai into a storage scroll he'd take with him. He'd already sorted through tags and a collection of barrier seals he liked to use for combat. "I won't be alone. I will have a weekly point of contact," he said carefully. He could only tell Naruto the details of the mission as he had now become Iruka's soul emergency contact. Still, Naruto couldn't keep a secret to save his life.

Naruto scowled. "What if somebody attacks you? What if they use that _Abracadabra_ jutsu again?"

"I doubt someone will be throwing that around in the school."

Naruto looked like he was on the verge of pulling out his hair. "Still!"

Turning, Iruka ruffled his hair as he used to do when Naruto was a genin. "Statistically, you will be in far more danger than me. You're out in the field."

"Dooooon't," Naruto whined, twisting away from the hair-ruffling with a pretend scowl. "I can take care of myself."

"And so can I. Don't worry about me, Naruto. It's the job of the older generation to worry about the younger generation." That was what his own father had told him, right before he died. Iruka hoped it wasn't a bad omen.

Naruto screwed up his face into a grimace. "Hey… What do you know about shadow clones, Sensei?"

"Far less than you, I imagine." His lips twitched into something that might have almost been a smile.

"Yeah, but…" Naruto shifted from foot-to-foot just the way he used to do as a small boy when he was about to do something that he knew would get him in trouble.

Recognizing pending danger, Iruka set down the storage scroll and raised his eyebrows.

Naruto grimaced. "You should use them. Shadow clones, I mean."

"I prefer water clones, when I need something corporeal," Iruka said, "and you shouldn't go around speaking about techniques that are technically still in the forbidden scroll."

He screwed up his face again, then blurted out. "Yeah, but if you use shadow clones, then you won't really be alone. It's like having a whole team with you. And when you disperse one —"

"Naruto—"

"You get your clones' memories added to your own. So, it's like ultimate-spying, but without the danger, see?"

Iruka stared at him. "You shouldn't be telling me things that are in that scroll."

"Yeah, but I'm going to be Hokage someday anyway, then I'll be able to choose who knows what. So it doesn't matter."

Iruka resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Naruto, that's _not_ how secrets work."

But he couldn't unring this particular bell, and the ramifications of what Naruto was telling him was… Staggering. "Who else knows?"

"Kakashi-sensei did for sure. He was the one who told me. Since I can create, like a million clones, I can reduce any training I want into a few hours." Naruto looked anxiously at Iruka, pain on his face. "I'm sure he would've wanted you to know, too. Only, you don't usually go on the field so there wasn't a reason…"

Once again, Iruka was reminded that he hadn't just lost a spouse when Kakashi died. Naruto had lost something like a parental figure. It wasn't a wonder he was being anxious and clingy… for Naruto. "I'll take it into consideration, and use it if I can." He forced a smile that came out like a grimace. "My chakra stores aren't nearly like yours, you know."

"Oh I know," he said breezily, "but you're not like Shikamaru, either."

He, supposed that was meant to be a compliment. And, for the first time in weeks, Iruka felt a little mischievousness this stir in his soul. Something that had been frozen under feet of hoarfrost since he had walked out of the morgue. "I'll have you know," he said primly "that your old teacher isn't without his own tricks."

"Sure, sure," Naruto said dismissively.

In reply, Iruka flashed his fingers through the necessary seals and said, "Oiroke no jutsu!"

The devious transformation took effect immediately, and when the smoke cleared, Iruka had the pleasure of seeing Naruto's eyes bug out of his head. There wasn't a hint of blood coming out of his nose, however. Iruka had copied his former student's prank jutsu, but he had done it with some level of class. His transformation wore clothing, even if the skirt was a little high.

He put one hand on his slim waist and cocked his hip, tossing his longer, silky brunette ponytail out of his eyes. "What do you think?" he asked, his voice high and feminine.

"Iruka-sensei! What! How? What!" Naruto stammered.

Iruka examined his nails critically. They were still flat and short like a man's. He would have to remember that, next time he tried this. "I need a disguise when I first enter the wizard world, until I arrive at the school-Shinobi are not known there, and two trained men would be suspicious. Yamato said your stupid, prank jutsu went beyond a normal illusion into actual transformation." He paused to look down at himself, considering. "It takes no concentration or chakra to maintain it at all. Well done."

Had he not been knocked nearly unconscious from shock when Naruto head sprung the more obscene version of this on him years back, he may have looked further into it and passed Naruto just for that. It wasn't every twelve-year-old that could create his own jutsu.

"Sensei, you look… Like Ino, but with brown hair. Even your, uh… " He rubbed at his eyes and looked anywhere but at Iruka's breasts, which were straining his shirt a little. "It's freaking me out."

He had, in fact, used Ino's body type as inspiration, though he had kept his own hair and eye color and had done away with the scar that would be too memorable for infiltration purposes. Still, he had no pity for Naruto.

"Imagine having worse pulled on you from your twelve-year-old student," he said tartly, but then reversed the jutsu with a burst of chakra and returned back to his normal self.

Naruto grinned, cheeky and unrepentant. "Yeah, but I got you good. Old man Hokage, too." The smile faded and he reached to rub at his hitai-ate. Iruka's old hitai-ate. "You're going to find out who killed Kakashi-sensei, aren't you? That's the other reason for this mission. Other than the teaching. I'm right, right?"

Why had he let himself forget for a moment how observant Naruto could be when he wanted. "Yes."

His mouth firmed and he nodded once, decisively. His blue eyes shined up at Iruka. "You'll kick their asses, Iruka-sensei. Punch one of them for me, okay? Real hard!"

No need to fake the smile anymore. "I will," he promised, then gave into the urge and ruffled Naruto's hair again. "I'll be sending weekly reports. Remember that letters go both ways."

Naruto grinned at him under his mop of mussed hair. "I'm going to be Jounin for sure by the time you get back. Believe it!"

 _I do_ , he thought fondly. _I always have_.

* * *

Upon the end of his interview, Dumbledore had left a portkey in Tsunade's care that would transfer Iruka to the wizarding world three days before the start of the new term.

Iruka showed up twenty minutes before the portkey was set to activate. Yamato was already there. He was dressed in civilian clothes in a western style, and for once had foregone his metal faceplate. His eyes were still unusually large and dark, but otherwise he gave off the appearance of a bland civilian.

Iruka, too, had dressed in his civilian clothes. In his small single pack, he had one spare uniform, his hitai-ate, and a few mementos from his house. (He'd given Naruto the key this morning and told him to use the home as it was his own. He expected the kitchen cabinets to be filled with ramen cups by this time tomorrow.) His storage scrolls held his explosive, light, and barrier tags, weapons, and a few choice poisons. Everything he'd need for an entire year.

Yamato glanced at Iruka up and down and then nodded in approval. "It's best for you to transform before we arrive. I will act as your father while we are in the Wizard Marketplace. It is supposedly busy this time of year, but the less word of two shinobi's arrival, the better."

Iruka nodded. "How is your English?"

"Basic," he admitted with a grimace. "Intel supplied me with a jutsu that would help me understand simple phrases, but I'm afraid a living language is more complicated. You will have to do most of the talking, sensei."

By 'intel' Yamato really meant ANBU infiltration. Through Kakashi, Iruka knew Yamato was ANBU, and Yamato _knew_ that Iruka knew. But it was one of those things that wasn't polite to say aloud.

So, instead of commenting, Iruka flashed his fingers through the necessary seals. "Oiroke no jutsu!"

The first thing he did after the smoke cleared was to check his fingernails: Long and shapely, just that he had hoped.

Yamato poked Iruka's shoulder and nodded again in approval when he saw that the transformation was true and not merely an illusion. Iruka had taken the opportunity to age the body down to fourteen or so to aid with their cover story.

"As soon you arrive at Hogwarts, send this message bird," Yamato handed Iruka a storage scroll which contained a very unhappy messenger Hawk, "with a local place and time to meet. I will be your point of contact, most weeks."

He nodded and tucked the scroll within a hidden pocket of his shirt, next to several sharp shuriken. It was a relief to know he would have backup—if only once a week.

Yamato checked his watch. "Five minutes."

Turning, Iruka grabbed the portkey, which appeared to be a hairbrush, and held it up between them. "From what I understand, this will work if any part of you is simply touching the object."

"It is a strange way to cast a jutsu, isn't it?" Yamato commented as he placed two fingers on brush handle.

" _Spell_ ," Iruka corrected absently, using the English word. "And yes, wizards and witches generally use natural chakra, filtered through their wands. It produces no drain on them whatsoever."

"A wand is a long piece of wood?" Yamato tilted his head, thinking. "I would like to examine one."

Iruka's lips ticked up at the wood-user. "That should be possible. My illusion is young enough to purchase a wand without arousing suspicion."

"Do you think it's possible for shinobi to use a wand for jut—for _spells_?" Yamato asked, head tilted. It was obvious he was considering the advantages.

"I'm not sure. My grandmother's wand was off-limits. She was no kunoichi, but she had a mean throw." Another thing he'd forgotten about her. "Her wand was buried with her, in their custom."

How long until he started forgetting the little things about Kakashi? The way he purposefully styled his hair to stand up on end, his anti-sweet-tooth, the hilarious way he'd blushed that time Iruka caught him reading a biography hidden in a Icha-Icha cover?

Yamato was sensitive enough to pick up on Iruka's lowered mood, and didn't comment further. They counted down in silence. Then, Iruka felt a sudden jerk behind his navel and he was whisked away from the only home he'd ever known.

* * *

The portkey took them to an apartment inside Diagon Alley, which was a main Wizarding Marketplace, separated entirely from the civilian population of London.

 _Muggle_ , Iruka reminded himself. _Not civilian. These Wizards and Witches do not protect their non-magical population—they hide from them._

Stepping out into the street, Iruka was thrust in the middle of chaos. Even Konoha on its largest festival day didn't compare. Magical items zipped here and there, sometimes chased by their owners (was that a book with legs?), owls hooted from every lamppost, witches with over-sized bags pushed rudely past while teenagers threw magical stink bombs at each other, laughing and running. Vendors on every street corner called out news and wares.

Still, in his orioke form, Iruka turned to regard Yamato. The man blinked his over-large eyes and visibly forced his hands down from hidden pockets. Any jounin with hair-trigger reflexes would have a hard time here.

Kakashi, he knew, would have looked bored and stoic on the outside, but—

Iruka cut that thought off sharply. Instead, he grabbed Yamato's arm—his dominant throwing arm, just in case—and offered up a fake, daughterly smile. "Wizard clothes first. Wand second."

"Yes," Yamato agreed, thickly in English. A reminder to stay in that language.

Yamato was close enough in size to Iruka's normal frame that any wizarding robes off the rack that fit him would work. The shopkeeper, Madam Malkin, was busy tailoring for a line of school children. With an assistant's help, they were able to get in and out quickly, with the packages sent onto to Hogwarts.

Two more people added to the crowd were no notice. But the other reason Iruka had gone under disguise was information gathering, and that proved useful when it came to the newspaper stand.

"Mad slasher strikes again!" a piercing disembodied voice from a flier called, the images of a knife and a wand twirling together as if on a TV screen. "Read all about it in today's Daily Prophet!"

Iruka quickly signed 'Stay here' to Yamato, and crossed the street to buy a newspaper.

The shopkeeper eyed him up and down. "You may wanna skip this one, Missy. Pictures are a bit gruesome."

"I didn't know there was a murderer about," Iruka said, making his doeish eyes widen in alarm. "I've been visiting overseas with my father. Is it dangerous?"

The shopkeeper barked a laugh. "Only if you're on the wrong side of the Ministry, or an auror. Some say," he leaned in closer, "it's a sign You-Know-Who's come again, though don't let anyone in the Ministry catch you saying so."

"You-Know-Who?"

But he the man nodded, clearly hearing his words as an affirmation and not a question. "Personally, I think it's Sirius Black, stirring up trouble. Murdering's just his type of fun, innit?"

"Wouldn't put it past him," Iruka agreed, wondering who Sirius Black was, and if they were related by blood or marriage.

Iruka bought a newspaper anyway.

"What does it say?" Yamato asked as Iruka returned. Yamato then grimaced as a wizard jostled him and offered a merry, "Cheers!".

The Jounin was, Iruka realized, flipping a piece of worry-wood in between his fingers. Not a good sign.

Grabbing his elbow, Iruka pulled him to a bench that sat out of the way in forgotten shadow. Yamato gave an audible sigh as he sat, and if Iruka didn't look too hard he could pretend he didn't see how his legs melded a little with the wooden bench. Diagon Alley was twinging every one of the jounin's battle reflexes.

Iruka quickly opened the paper and scanned the page. He was disappointed: The moving pictures were not gruesome at all—just a row of white sheeted bodies, and medi-witches shaking their heads over them.

"The killer got into a locked and warded home. Killed a witch from the department of mysteries. Arterial cuts. No magical signatures found, but they say there was no way a muggle could breach the wards."

"Could a shinobi?"

Iruka looked up quickly. "Possibly. Why?"

"We know wizards were traveling in Fire Country. They may have picked up missing nin along the way."

The ones who had killed Kakashi. The paper crinkled in Iruka's fist. He caught himself and smoothed it out, then nodded to a dark, quiet looking shop across the street with a sign that said: Ollivanders Wand Shop.

"Then I think it's wise to test how alike Shinobi and Wizards are."

A half hour later, Iruka found himself the owner of an eleven-inch cedar wand with a dragon heart-string core. It felt thin and delicate in his hands—too easy to break during battle. Yamato commented the same, once they were out of the shop and back to the bench where they could speak in peace.

"You could get perhaps, one surprise justu out of it, but anyone with sense would close in and try to snap the wand in half."

As an experiment, Iruka pointed the tip of his wand at a piece of paper trash. "Katon."

A thin stream of fire issued out of the wand and set the paper ablaze. Quickly, Iruka stomped it out with his shoe.

"I definitely felt a pull from my chakra," he said. "More than I like for that jutsu, in fact. I can get much more efficiency with hand-seals."

"That could also be the result of practice," Yamato said. "Perhaps the wand could be useful if your fingers were broken, or you were prevented from making seals."

"Then how would I hold the wand?" Iruka shook his head. "Wizards and witches use natural chakra and call it magic, but it seems my body is simply used to channeling through my chakra coils."

Yamato nodded and held out his hand. "May I see?"

Iruka felt a strange reluctance to hand the wand over—as if it were already a part of him. He pushed the reluctance aside and watched with interest as the wood-user closed his eyes and ran the tips of his fingers over the length. After a moment, he handed it back. "Odd. There's nothing unusual about the wood at all, except for the dead bit of flesh within. Perhaps that is where magical properties are contained "

Stowing the wand up his sleeve, Iruka looked around the still bustling marketplace. "We should split up and gather more information."

Yamato nodded. "Flare your chakra if you run into trouble. We will meet back at this bench in an hour."

* * *

The dark, dank alleyway caught Iruka's attention right away. It seemed to be a place of secrets and dark dealings. The type where criminals liked to lurk.

Had he not been wearing the illusion of a young girl, he wouldn't have hesitated. People who hesitated were prey. Then again, were he the girl he looked like he would have felt mischievous and perhaps a little excited about going into a forbidden place. Iruka kept that in mind and altered his body language as he strode down the alleyway, the new cedar wand out and ready… As if that were the most dangerous thing about him.

The alleyway was quite narrow in places, and he brushed by a few people in rags, ignoring the searching fingers in his pockets as if he didn't notice them. There was nothing in his outer pockets that he would be bothered to lose—just small knuts of wizard money.

Fingers hard and sure, closed around his wrist, stopping Iruka cold.

Iruka's first instinct was to throw his attacker over his shoulder and follow-up with a sharp heel-kick to make sure they stayed down. But a young untrained witch wouldn't use such a move. He startled, checked himself, and glared up at the person.

"Don't touch me!"

The man who grabbed him was much taller than Iruka's. His face and features were hidden deeply within robes. He didn't answer, but his companion, also hooded, laughed darkly.

"Found something you like, Ghost?"

Ghost didn't reply. His fingers tightened over Iruka's wrist, hard enough to bruise. There was not a flicker chakra in the grip, though, and no magical spell that Iruka could otherwise feel.

He could break the hold in a second, or simply stab the man with a kunai he had up his sleeve.

But no, that would break his illusion. Iruka twisted his wrist—not really to escape, but to test the reaction. But the man followed his movements and adjusted his hold easily. He was trained. Iruka could feel his attention drill into him with startlingly intensity even though he could not see the man's eyes.

"What's a pretty thing like you doing down here in Knockturn Alley, miss?" the second man jeered while the one holding Iruka kept silent. "What's your name?"

"Delphina Black," he said, using his grandmother's name.

"Pureblood, eh? At least Ghost has taste."

This had gone on long enough. "Release me, or I will make you," Iruka growled. For the hooded men's sake, they had better not mistake it for him being cute or coy.

"What is going on here?" another voice demanded from down the alleyway. Yamato. Iruka felt the jounin's chakra flare even before he had finished the words.

Iruka didn't flare his own in reply, which would indicate he needed assistance. Honestly, he had it handled. But Yamato was playing a role, too. And that role was of Iruka's father.

Jogging up, he looked from Iruka to the two hooded men and scowled. His hands did not drift to where Iruka knew he kept his weapons, but they would be there in a flash if he needed it.

Abruptly, the second hooded man made a gesture to the first. Ghost released Iruka's wrist and stepped back, silent and obedient.

"Father, these men accosted me!" Iruka snapped rushing to his side and, pretending to thoroughly have his feathers ruffled.

"We were simply making sure young Miss Black here wasn't lost. She ought not to go down Knockturn Alley alone," the talker said. Then he snapped, "Come, Ghost," as if the other hooded man were his dog.

The two swept down the alleyway and passed them, turning around the corner, and was quickly gone.

"Perverts," Iruka muttered under his breath and shook back the Kunai that had slipped down his sleeve to his wrist.

"Hmm," Yamato said wryly. "Perhaps you should have jutsu'ed into a younger boy form."

Iruka shot him a disgusted look. "Have you _seen_ Naruto's reverse harem jutsu?"

Apparently, Yamato had because he winced, then inclined his head back to the mouth of the alley way and the chaos beyond. "Let's leave. We're drawing attention."

* * *

That night, they had dinner at a quaint pub named the Leaky Cauldron. The food was heavier than Iruka was used to, and it had been a long time since his grandmother's strict lessons on how to use a fork. (A knife, of course, was a simple matter for any shinobi worth his salt.)

Yamato ordered ale, in the local style, and three glasses. The third sat at the table, untouched. A memento for the man who would never join them.

And in a quiet shadowed table of the Wizard's Pub, their quiet conversation in Japanese was easily overlooked by English speakers: Yamato told Iruka stories of some of the amusing anecdotes from missions he and Kakashi shared. Not enough details to reveal classified information, of course, but the kind of dirt only lifelong friends had on one another.

It hurt to talk and to laugh and remember, but the pain was like lancing a festering wound. It was good to talk about Kakashi with someone who also dearly missed him.

"You still wear the wedding ring," Yamato commented.

Actually, Iruka been spinning it with his thumbnail again. He made himself stop. "If I took it off, his chakra in it would fade," he admitted. "It dissipates once it leaves a living aura." Which was why Kakashi's ring with Iruka's chakra was as dead as the man who wore it.

Yamato nodded and took a pull of ale. "Careful, Sensei. Wearing someone else's chakra… that's how you collect ghosts."

"I don't believe in ghosts," he said. Not after his parents never visited him. After the Kyuubi there would have been enough ghosts to haunt the village, but Iruka heard of no one who'd come back to visit their loved ones. If there was an afterlife—Kakashi said there was, he'd seen it after Pein's attack—people didn't return from it.

"Not those sort of ghosts," Yamato said obliquely.

Something tingled in the back of Iruka's mind. He eyed the ale with a little more speculation, wondering if it was stronger than it tasted.

On cue, the bartender called out last call. Iruka shoved his remaining mug to Yamato. He didn't need the hangover tomorrow.

* * *

It was raining outside, in Iruka's dream. Kakashi sat by the bay window in the hotel room over the pub, the Daily Prophet unfurled out in front of him. He crinkled his eye at the moving pictures. "Messy."

"Hardly," Iruka said as he continued to make tea for them both. "These people would never print visible blood. It would upset them too much."

"I meant the killings, Sensei. Either someone very untrained... or someone who wanted to get caught."

"Or who wanted to send a message." Teacups in hand, Iruka sat next to him. Kakashi didn't look at him-couldn't. His neck was stiff from rigormortis.

"Can you tell me who killed you? A description?" Iruka asked.

"Maa," he sighed and set down the newspaper to take up the tea. "This is only a dream, Iruka. I can't tell you what you don't already know."

Irritated at the reminder, Iruka set down the teacup with a sharp click on the table. "Am I going crazy? Dreaming of you like this, every night?"

Kakashi cast him a droll look. "Wasn't it you who told me more than once that every jounin is a little crazy?"

"I'm not a jounin, and stop answering my questions with questions."

Kakashi smiled-a true smile that curved his mouth as well as his eyes. "Do chuunin take S-rank missions?"

* * *

Iruka woke seconds before the tiny bell on his alarm tingled. He sat up and rubbed at his face, relieved to find his cheeks dry. It had not been a sad dream, but his heart ached—

… Something was wrong.

Stilling, Iruka cast about past his wards he'd put up that night. He could feel the faint flicker of Yamato in the next room over. No doubt the Jounin was awake. There was no other presence with him in his room, or just outside his door.

It took him nearly a solid minute to realize that the difference was within.

Iruka's chakra was lower than it should have been. Not by much. Not as if, for example, he'd been casting jutsu in his sleep. But there was a slight difference.

 _The wards_ , he thought, though it didn't fit. If there had been a force attacking the barriers he'd put up, he would have woken immediately. A quick check to the seals showed no hint of tamper.

Yamato knocked on his door. No words, but the Konoha pattern asking if all was well.

"I'll be out in a minute," Iruka called back, and pushed the issue aside for later. The chakra drain was minimal, and he was to arrive at Hogwarts today. He needed all his wits.

Perhaps it was just nerves.

There was a floo-powder point to Hogwarts from a public fireplace in the Leaky Cauldron. Pack in hand, Iruka watched several witches and wizards take a handful of powder and travel to their destinations before he did the same.

Stepping in and throwing the powder down, he called out "Dumbledore's office. Hogwarts!" and was whisked away.

That was another question answered: Shinobi could use Wizard transportation as well as wands. He suspected there was hardly any difference at all, other than the type of magical training.

He arrived in Dumbledore's office slightly dizzy, but with no effect to his chakra at all, for all that he had just traveled halfway across the country. This was going into his first report back to Tsunade.

"Ah, Iruka. Welcome—right on time, I see." Dumbledore sat at his desk, across from an older severe witch. He rose and Iruka caught himself before he bowed, extending a hand to shake, instead. "How were your travels?" Dumbledore asked.

"Swift and easy," Iruka said honestly.

"This is Minerva McGonagall, who teaches Transfiguration. Minerva, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, Iruka Umino. I asked her here to show you to your office and to help with your luggage, but..." He looked ruefully at Iruka single pack. "I see you carry light."

"I have brought all I need," Iruka assured him.

McGonagall looked severe. "Dumbledore says you're a teacher, of sorts. If that is the case, that will be a welcome change from our last few Defence Professors."

Iruka recognized a challenge when he saw one, and forced an easy smile. "I've taught all levels in Konoha Academy, from the six to twelve-year-olds. Lately, I've specialized with the graduating students."

Her eyebrows rose. "Six-years-old? That's rather young to start—well." She drew herself up, flustered, looking like she was holding back from saying something cutting by the skin of her teeth.

 _She doesn't approve of Shinobi_ , Iruka thought, and automatically loosened his shoulders and altered his body language so he wasn't mirroring her tense stance. Less competent ninja, more enthusiastic foreigner on his first mission from home. He made sure to over-share a little, too.

"Most Shonobi—those from clans, which are like your pure-blood families—start Pre-Academy at four. I interned there while earning teaching credentials." He shook his head, ruefully. "I hope dealing with those tantrums have prepared me for teenagers."

"Quite." She glanced at Dumbledore, who looked as if he were smiling behind his beard. "Well, if you follow me this way. The students should be arriving tomorrow evening."

* * *

Feeling full and pleasantly drowsy from the feast, Harry listened as Dumbledore gave his usual welcome back speech.

"We have had two changes in staffing this year. We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons."

Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged looks. Dumbledore had not said for how long Grubbly-Plank would be teaching. Where in the world was Hagrid?

Dumbledore continued. "I'm am also delighted to introduce Professor Umino, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, who comes to us from The Village Hidden In The Leaves. I'm sure you will all strive to make him welcome."

Hermione dropped her fork. She wasn't the only one. Low, confused murmurs swept all four house tables.

Umino, who sat primly at the end of the staff table, inclined his head at the students. He was a tanned-skin Asian man with a ponytail and rather long scar which crossed the bridge of his nose and both cheeks on either side.

Ignoring the murmurs, Dumbledore went on about quidditch tryouts. Harry turned to Ron to comment about the odd name of the place, but saw his friend still staring at the new professor, his jaw dropped open.

"They didn't…" Hermione breathed. "Dumbledore wouldn't…"

"What?" Harry asked.

"Dumbledore's gone and hired a shinobi," Ron said, sounding dumbstruck.

"A… what?" Harry asked.

"A ninja." Hermione looked torn between disapproval and excitement. "They're supposed to be very militaristic, and secretive. They've made their entire continent unplottable."

"My Dad went one of hidden villages on a Ministry goodwill trip when I was a kid," Ron said. "Think he called it a shoo-nan test. He said it was an absolute death match, kids young as first years offing each other right and left. He had nightmares about it for months. Why would Dumbledore hire someone like that?"

Harry glanced again at Umino, who was poking rather fussily at a sheppard's pie with a fork.

"It's obvious, isn't it? Voldermort's come back, and Dumbledore wants us to know how to fight."

Hermione looked doubtful. "Shinobi don't practice magic in the same way as normal witches and wizards—they're not supposed to use wands at all."

"No wands?" Harry asked. "How do they cast spells?"

"Dad said it's a sort of blood magic," Ron said and shook his head. "I hope not. Imagine having to stab yourself before every test?"

There was a great clattering and banging all around them; Dumbledore had obviously just dismissed the school, because everyone was standing up ready to leave the Hall. Hermione jumped up, looking flustered.

"Ron, we're supposed to show the first-years where to go!"

"Be there in a moment." Ron turned to Harry and raised his eyebrows. "Think it'll be Moody all over again?"

Harry glanced again at Umino. He looked rather young to be a professor, and gave off a self-possessed, bookish air. Aside from the scar, he didn't strike Harry as the type who'd regularly engaged in death matches.

Then again, no one had counted on Mad Eye really being a Death Eater in disguise, either.

"Suppose we'll find out," Harry said.


End file.
